


Angel in the Wind

by daddywarbats (TwinEnigma)



Category: Dark Angel, Young Justice (Cartoon)
Genre: Alternate Reality, Crossover, F/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Not Quite Gen, Young Justice Anon Meme
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-04
Updated: 2013-02-04
Packaged: 2017-11-28 05:04:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/670576
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TwinEnigma/pseuds/daddywarbats
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Crossover with Dark Angel.  Artemis, an X-5 gone AWOL, in Gotham.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Angel in the Wind

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own the characters of Young Justice or the universe of Dark Angel; I did this cause I got bored.

If there’s one thing Artemis has always loved about Gotham, it’s that there is no end to the number of places to hide in Gotham. The shadows are a little too deep, the alleys a little too irregular, and the buildings are shoehorned in-between streets at strange and more typical angles alike. Gotham’s an old city and, unlike the majority of the relatively more-orderly nearby Big Apple, had settled into a model of urban expansion and street planning far more reminiscent of the beating heart of Red Sox Nation; the streets were a confusing jumbled mess of constant road work, one-way streets, rotaries and state roads that happened to go both North and South at the same time, often in the same direction, and the skyline is dominated by an incongruous mix of new and old architecture. Coupled with a highly dense population, a notoriously easy to escape psychiatric prison, and an overworked, undermanned police force, it’s real easy to just slide on by under the radar.

In short, it’s just perfect for a girl with her kind of _unique_ situation. At least in Gotham she has a fighting chance of staying in the proverbial wind, unlike elsewhere.

Oh, she knows they’re looking for her and the others – that, at least she has no illusions about. Manticore certainly wasn’t happy when a whole unit of their prized X-5 series managed to get away from them in ’09 and she’s sure they weren’t too happy when they found out she and her mission partner decided to cut and run after the Slade Disaster. They’d both seen which way the wind was blowing on that one and, well, X-5’s were not created to be stupid. They got when the going was good and they’d stayed gone.

_Escape and evade. Split up. Keep moving._

Manticore had trained them very well.

And now, here she is, just another young, pretty Gothamite on the dance floor, letting herself _be_ in the moment, far from her frustrations and worries. She’s almost keenly aware of how the men in the club are watching her and it makes her feel sexy, beautiful - _human_. They don’t know what she is: to them, she’s a hot chick in a club and that’s all that matters. They have no idea what she is or what she’s capable of.

She goes into a turn, rolling her hip as she does so, and smiles at the cute guys watching. Out of the corner of her eye, she can see that her friends, Barbara and Kate, are staring at her in bewilderment and more than a little concern. It’s not every day that Artemis Crock actually flirts back and it throws them for a bit of a loop when she does. It’s not like she has much of a choice, though, and hell if she’s going to key them in on that particular quirk of her DNA. Some things they’re just better off not knowing about her.

Frankly, it’s a little embarrassing that three times a year she gets hijacked by her hormones and every human male in her sights suddenly starts looking _really_ good. Ultimately, she’s not worried about the attention or the flirting going anywhere. A lot of the boys who dare to approach her will fail to impress the cat in her and she’ll most likely head out of here alone. She might beat up a few criminals on the way to relieve a little of the frustration, but then she’ll go home to shower and bed. And, hopefully, when she wakes up in the morning, it will be over and she’ll be something of herself again. At least, that is, until the next cycle.

She moves in time with the beat, the burning desire in her veins blending in with the pulse of the music, and she tries to drown out that part of her brain that’s more animal than human. It’s a lot harder than it has any right to be and, not for the first time, she curses Manticore for making her like this.

Artemis turns and almost stops, catching a glimpse of green eyes set in a _very_ handsome face. _Oh, hello,_ the cat in her says and she follows its lead, smoothly going from dancing to acquiring her target. She smiles, already mentally undressing him in the back of her mind, and asks, “Is this seat taken?”

The guy shakes his head, but his eyes don’t leave her. “Go ahead.”

She slides into the chair next to him and gives him a little closer once-over. He’s really cute – a little wiry, but she can see he’s got some muscle under that turtleneck which is definitely a bonus – and he’s got a smattering of freckles across his face to go with the red hair he’s got. He even smells nice –male and interested and _different_ , but in a _good_ way – and it’s something the other side of her really appreciates on a whole other wavelength. It’s one of those hundreds of things she isn’t able to put into words and explain, even to herself, but it’s vaulted him right to the top of the list.

“What’s your name?” she asks, leaning in a little and pretending to absently play with a strand of her hair.

His eyes widen just a fraction and she can see his nostrils flare just the slightest as he takes a breath in. His pupils open wide as the scent of _interest_ coming from him spikes. Again, mentally, she curses the cat in her. She must be coming on a little too strong if even an Ordinary is shocked.

“It’s Wally,” he says at last, shifting awkwardly in his seat and returning her gaze. It’s a gesture she’s seen guys do a billion times when confronted with someone attractive to them and makes her hindbrain super pleased with itself. He’s not spooked by her forwardness either, which is doubly pleasing. She’s not sure even half the guys in this club could claim the same.

“I’m Artemis,” she says, smiling. “Wanna get a drink?”

“Aiight, sounds good,” he says. It’s clear he’s trying to play it cool.

Dimly, she’s aware that for the first time maybe she wants to take him home with her.

It’s dangerous.

She likes it. 

* * *

They end up back at Wally’s motel room, which is a cheap, tacky facility with far too many mirrors and only little in the room to indicate he was actually staying here. It’s a little mortifying to be honest, but Artemis is far more concerned with the immediate task at hand, which is ripping the clothes off of him without sacrificing the really phenomenal kissing going on. Ultimately, she must give it up, if only so he can rip off that obnoxious turtleneck he’s wearing and she can get her own high-collared top off. They make it quick, and his eyes, greener than ever, seem to bore into her for a moment before they collide again, lips devouring each other in kisses that are anything but chaste.

She backs deeper into the room, leading him with kisses and aggressive tugs at the button and waistband of his jeans. He follows, obediently, with caresses and careful, controlled touches, as if afraid he’d hurt her. It’s kind of cute – endearing, actually. He has no idea that she’s the one who’ll have to hold back to avoid hurting him.

The back of her knees hit the bed and she raises her eyes to his as she threads her arms around his neck. For a moment, her mind sees through the haze of her hormones and she wonders if she’s actually ready to go through with this, with this guy. For a moment, she wonders how she must look to him. Her eyes flick to the mirror behind them and, in an instant her heat is forgotten as terror, cold, animal and primal flares deep in her gut at the sight of the barcode, stark and black on his neck.

_“Manticore!”_ she hisses, recoiling and shoving him away from her.

The unexpected attack sends him crashing back into the mirror, his expression quickly shifting from shock to alertness. “What?”

Artemis launches herself at him, cursing her own stupidity, and growls out, “I should have known!”

He blurs and is across the room. “Woah! Woah, calm down! I don’t know what you’re talking about!”

_“LIAR!”_ she roars, blurring at him. He blocks, hastily deflecting her attack with an expression of absolute shock, and they grapple for a minute before he finally catches her and spins her around.

“Oh, _shit_ ,” he says, and she can smell his fear. “Who sent you? Lydecker? _Shit._ How many are there?”

Artemis slams her foot into his and headbutts him as she spits out, “How the hell should I know? You’re the one with them!”

“No, I’m not!” he protests, dodging her next attack and scooping up his jacket. He hastily tugs it on even as he blurs towards the windows. Pressing himself against the wall, he peeks out the blinds, his face a mask of panic. “Shit. Where is he? Are they coming from the roof?”

Artemis narrows her eyes. It could be an act. She can’t take any chances.

She bolts, grabbing her shirt, and launches through the window. Her feet hit pavement and she keeps running, zigging and zagging across the labyrinthine streets of Gotham, until she feels it’s safe enough to catch the rooftop express and circle around to her home.

As soon as she’s inside, she pulls her emergency duffle down from its hiding place and empties her hidden stash of cash into the bag. She shoots a mournful look around the apartment, at the photos and the comfortable place she’s spent this time building here. Then, quietly, she sits down on her bed, opens the drawer of the nightstand and pulls out a small black communicator, a gift from her once mission partner.

“Robin?” she asks. She uses the name he’d picked after they left, not the human one he’s adopted since then.

There’s a short crackle and a sleepy, nasally voice comes through. “Artemis?”

“I need pick up,” she states simply and sniffs.

There is silence on the other end of the line for a moment. “Are you okay?”

“Please come, soon.”

There is another pause and then: “I’ll be there.”

“Thank you,” she whispers and shuts the device off.

It is only then she is aware that she is crying.


End file.
